


Wolven Winter

by DaharMaster



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 11:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17866784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaharMaster/pseuds/DaharMaster
Summary: In this work I explore how the witchers of the School of the Wolf deal with a very real peril that is never addressed in any media: boredom. This is actually a series of short, episodic, typically humorous and lighthearted chapters following the (mis)adventures of Geralt, Vesemir, Eskel, & Lambert while wintering at Kaer Morhen during the winter of 1269-1270.





	Wolven Winter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mickleborger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickleborger/gifts).



Winter, 1269

Kaer Morhen, Northern Kaedwen

-

The lake probably had once had a name, but Eskel didn’t know it. No one did, except perhaps Vesemir. To all those of the School of the Wolf, however, it was simply “The Lake”, especially given that it was the only one around.

It was still mostly iced over, but the urge had taken Geralt and Lambert to go fishing regardless, and as things often did while wintering at Kaer Morhen, it had become infectious.

Thus countless shots of _igni_ , some well placed blasts with Zerrikanian powder, and a veritable wall of _yrden_ wards to hold back the ice, and a large enough area had been cleared.

“Hold it steady, Eskel!” Lambert snapped, swaying uneasily standing at the prow of their little rowboat, a samum bomb in hand, glaring.

“How about _I_ get to throw this time?” Eskel replied. Lambert sneared and turned his gaze back to the water.

“Fat chance,” he remarked. Then he saw them. Immediately Lambert’s cat-like pupils contracted to mere slits then shot inhumanly wide, a school of sluggish perch swimming along fifteen meters down, an even more sluggish pike desperately trying to catch up.

A swift motion of his hand and an _igni_ spark lit the bomb’s special fuse that would still burn beneath the surface.

“Fish!” Lambert bellowed even as he propelled himself upwards, leaping with unnatural agility. Mid-air he took aim and using the extra momentum he had gained now by plummeting back towards the boat, chucked the bomb into the water several meters ahead of the fish.

Eskel cried out as Lambert crashed back into the boat, nearly ejecting the other witcher in the process as he sprawled across the forward bench. No sooner had Eskel ensured his own placement in the boat than he took up the oars and began rowing madly away, his strong powerful arms fluidly sending the small wooden dinghy lightly skipping across the surface of the lake.

Lambert all the while wrestled with the jostling of the boat and his own limbs to right himself and managed to poke his head up just in time to see a massive gout of water surge upwards from where he had so precisely launched the bomb.

Fish, not all of them intact, and water rained down for twenty meters in all directions and the sudden deluge caused the boat to rock wildly. Lambert raised a fist in the air victoriously and let out a loud whoop of triumph even as he again lost his balance, smacking his head against the bench yet again.

Already a second row boat like theirs was fighting the tremendous surging ripples set off by the bomb, heading right towards the epicenter. Geralt was at the oars, grimacing as he rowed. In part this was due to the extra drag created by the immense dredging net Vesemir was now casting over the side and affixing to their craft, and in part due to the fish viscera that had just landed on him.

“Hey Lambert,” Geralt called, “We’re trying to stun them, not vaporize them.”

“Hey fuck you!” Lambert called back, finally planted firmly upright on the bench, grinning like a fool, “I pre-cooked them for you!”

“Enough racket!” Vesemir snapped at them both, causing them to instinctually fall silent, “You’ll scare the fish!”

The silence that followed seemed almost like a winter’s length itself as the other three witchers stared at the old master in a mix of confusion and curiosity. Finally Vesemir rolled his eyes and made a dismissive hand gesture as he began hauling the net on board.

“Pah, I’m joking!” he rasped.

The other three exchanged looks like stunned but bemused schoolboys, though each had already lived longer than any normal man could hope to.


End file.
